The Black Rose
by Thursday's Dove
Summary: Reine Rose can't move on after the losses endured due to the War. She decides to write a book about it with the hopes that she can finally end the pain she's been in for over thirty years. A story laden with emotions, symbolism, plot twists, and fate.
1. Prologue: Inspiration

((((Author's Note: I find disclaimers to be repetitious. I will only state it once here and then it'll go for all the following chapters. This is a Harry Potter fanfiction. All the characters you know to be J. K. Rowling's are, indeed, _hers_. However, Reine Rose, Conor Black-Rose, June Willows, and any other characters you know _not_ to be J. K. Rowling's are property of **Thursday** and **Greeny** (myself and my cousin). Professor Amon Thamis is property of **Cedric Thanatos**, a good friend of mine. This is not a self-insertion fiction, so please don't assume that Reine is me--we are nothing alike, not even in appearance. Furthermore, any brands and/or products mentioned are copyrighted by their owners and I am merely borrowing them for content, unless it's a magical product that I have made up. Feel free to leave feedback of any kind. I especially urge you to comment on any typos, spelling errors, grammar errors, or time and date errors you find. Contact me if you desire to do so. Now that we have that out of the way, read and enjoy!!))))

--------------------

One moment before, she had been smiling proudly with a glimmer of sadness in her eyes. Now that proud smile and that sad gleam were both replaced by a blank stare. The change had happened in the matter of a split second.

_"...Hey... I'm reading that book, too."  
__"Oh, really?"  
__"Yeah."  
__"I didn't know anyone else read this stuff."  
"Yeah..."_

The blinding, mind-consuming swirl of images, voices, tastes, and scents that slammed into her had overwhelmed her so much that she had stopped right in the middle of a bustling crowd. A few offended bystanders shoved past her and either muttered incoherent insults, scoffed, or glared.

_"You're that new Ravenclaw prefect. Rose, isn't it?"  
__"I'm… I'm_ one_ of them. And yes, I'm Reine Rose. Is there something I can help you with?"  
__"Heh heh. _You'll_ be needing the help, Love."  
__"E-excuse me?"_

_"Excuse me?! What did you just say?!" _exclaimed the severe voice of a teenage boy. He had been focused on getting the sheet-white expression of his mother to react until he heard one of the aforementioned offended bystanders mutter something. Now he bore his gaze into the back of a man's head.

_"Black and Potter. Might I inquire as to what you two are doing to that statue?"  
__"We're busy, Rose. Now bugger off. Go about your prefect duties… or something."  
__"I _am _going about them. Stink pellets, eh? Not a very clever place to hide them, is it? Stink pellets are in direct violation of the Banned Items Statute as Banned Item Number 343. 'No student shall possess, distribute, or use' said Item."  
__"Oh yeah? So what do you plan to do about it?"  
__"Hm. Nothing."_

The man who had muttered looked back, slightly startled by the boy's reaction. Almost immediately, the look of surprise melted away and he rolled his eyes at the boy and continued escorting his Second Year son to the soon-to-be-departing Hogwarts Express. The cross youth scoffed harshly and rolled his eyes right back, and then shouted after him: "I know who you are, you inbred piece of shit! Shipley! Yeah, that's right! You're Shipley! Keep walking, asshole!"

Hostility blazing in his stormy gray eyes, the teenager whipped back around to inspect the pallor of his ailing mother. He glared daggers at the people around her, carelessly jostling her frail, comatose body. While few of the people noticed this glare, those who did promptly stepped out of his way and away from his mother. Those who didn't…

"Get the fuck away from her, you bloody blind idiots!" he hollered, shoving several people aside so that now the entire crowd avoided walking in his direction. That worked for him just fine. He was able to slip an arm around his mother and guide her out of the bulk of parents and their children about to depart for another year at Hogwarts.

"Mum," he spoke more calmly, looking into his mother's unblinking spheres of liquid sapphire. For a second, he thought he saw _something_—he didn't know just _what_—flicker in her eyes. But then, as soon as he thought he had seen something, it disappeared and he was left once more with eerie, staring eyes.

He gave her a small shake and spoke once more. "Mum. You all right? Mum. What's wrong?" The tone of voice he used while speaking to his dearest mother was so gentle, so placid, so tender, it was nearly impossible for one to believe that just a moment before he had sounded like he was on the verge of using an Unforgivable Curse on the entire crowd.

"Mum. Wake up," he commanded firmly, moving one hand up in front of her face and snapping his fingers a few times.

_"So… how do you think you will do on your O.W.L.s?"  
__"Haven't thought about it at all, really."  
__"You haven't?"  
__"Yeah, I have more important things to think about."  
__"Uh. Like _what_?"  
__"Like_ you_, for instance."  
__"M-me…?"  
__"Yeah, and how you keep lettin' me 'n' the boys go. Why?"  
__"Huh? Oh. Well… Why are you so fixated on—"_

A series of snaps awoke her from the trance of memories that had been playing in front of her like an old muggle movie reel with volume added. She let out a small, shuddering gasp as her real life vision came back to her. The first thing she saw was the concerned expression of her fifteen-year-old son.

"Oh…" she breathed out, confused. "Conor…" Her voice was high-pitched and distant, almost like she was out of breath or had been given mind-altering pain medication and it was impairing her ability to properly form words.

Just by hearing her voice, Conor, the snappy teenager, could tell she was feeling faint. He tightened his protective hold on her. Something had happened. Something was wrong. Everything about her was off. The light in her eyes had come back, but it was…_off_…somehow. Her face was still pale. Her voice was shaky and weak. Her hands were cold and trembling, even though, to him, it wasn't that cold outside for the beginning of September; the trembling was spreading, he noted.

Suddenly, a hiss of steam issued from the engine and a long, deafening "WOOOOOOO!" caused a substantial increase in activity on the Platform. The Hogwarts Express was just five minutes from departing. Latecomers came running onto the Platform, hurriedly kissed their parents or guardians in farewell, and then scrambled onto the train. Conor all at once realized that he wasn't going to get a chance to claim a compartment and scare off any sweet, innocent, unknowing First Years or stubborn, overzealously friendly bastards in order to keep it to himself. He was going to have to…_share_…with someone—_several _someone's, most likely. No matter. He'd simply take out a book and bury himself in it until the end of the train ride, ignoring any and all who tried any form of interaction with him.

But Conor had tuned out the noise of the Platform as he was focusing on his mother. It barely registered in his brain that the five-minute whistle had blown, and even then he didn't care at this point whether or not he made the Express on time.

"I _knew _something like this was going to happen without Uncle Remus here. I _told_ him that he needed to be here," the black-haired youth grumbled, carefully examining his mother's face. She returned his gaze and a faint, ghostly smile lit up on her face. The way the light played in her eyes when she smiled made her appear to be at least as young as, if not younger, than her son. And yet the smile seemed…almost like the smile of someone who is stoned—airy and like the person isn't even aware that he or she is smiling.

"Conor, you're a very handsome young man. You look just like your father did at your age," she claimed from out of nowhere. The corners of her lips tugged up into a more pronounced smile as her bright eyes explored his face.

"I don't care. Come on. Let's get you home," Conor said, beginning to lead her back off the Platform.

For a couple of seconds she completely complied without resistance. And then, as though she had been under the Imperius Curse all along and the Curse had been suddenly lifted, her eyes popped open like two blue buttons and she pulled back against her son. Conor looked taken aback and tried guiding his mother away once more. She had stopped budging altogether.

"That was the five-minute warning! You're going to miss the Express!" she gasped, alarmed, even though the five-minute warning had been two minutes ago. The strange, bewildered, and spaced-out demeanor of her expression had disappeared and was now replaced with an urgent demeanor. To Conor's relief, the color had at least returned to her face, toning down the intensity of her shining, electric blue eyes.

"I'm not leaving you here like this, Mum," he said. "No. I'm getting you back home and then I'm going to get Uncle Remus to look after you. I'm not going to school until I know you're all right." He stood there stubbornly, defiantly, as the minute for the train to depart drew nearer.

"This is your Fifth Year. You _can't_ miss the start-of-term feast. Do you know how important this year is? So much happens! You've got your O.W.L.s, Career Day, new prefects…" She spoke fervently on the subject of Fifth Year. There was an unmistakable sense of reminiscence in her words.

"_No_, Mum. Let's _go_." Conor no longer spoke so gingerly to his mother. Hostility and resentment were resurfacing as he tried to convince his mother to allow him to escort her back home where he could take better care of her.

"Conor Sirius Black-Rose, I am your mother and I will _not_ hesitate to Stun you and carry you onto the train myself if you do not get on it now," the middle-aged woman threatened. Conor didn't feel threatened at all, despite the sincerity in his mother's tone and expression. Her eyes softened once more at seeing her son rooted before her. "Please get on the train. I'll be fine. I promise."

She reached forward with her right hand and placed it on the side of the boy's face. His cold, slate gray eyes closed at that action, mostly because of how cold her hand was against his cheek, but also because he felt her honesty flowing through her and into him. In that instant, he believed she'd be all right, as she promised, and pulled his face away from her hand, opening his eyes once more to meet hers. A sigh escaped his lips.

"Fine," he stated grumpily. "Fine. I'm just…" He pushed out another sigh and put his arms around her, kissing her cheek and pulling her into a hug, which she ardently returned. "I'm just worried about you, Mum."

Her hand worked up and down his back in that special motherly, assuring way. In all honesty, it was probably one of about three ways of calming down the short-fused teenager. Coming from his mother, the back rubbing worked like magic in soothing his nerves. "I know you are," she acknowledged gently, giving him an extra squeeze to emphasize this. "But you don't have to be."

There was a long pause of silence between them. Much of the noise on the Platform had died down. Most of the students were on the train now. Conor was one of very few that remained. The mother released her grip on her son, pecked him on the cheek, and affectionately patted that same cheek.

"Now go. _Go!_" It took a friendly nudge to get him moving, but before he got halfway to the train, she called after him. "Conor!" He stopped, turned, and looked back at her, looking quite displeased to be leaving her behind after how she had just frozen up minutes before. "I love you! And no more detentions, you hear?!"

A genuine, honest to Merlin smile lit up on his hardened expression. "I love you, too, Mum," he called back, turning back around and climbing onto the train.

With that final correspondence echoing across the Platform, the door leading onto the train snapped and latched closed, and the entire Express hissed and shuddered to life. The mother stood on the Platform, watching as the train left the station, remaining until the very last glimpse of red disappeared over the horizon.

--------------------

As soon as the start-of-term feast concluded and the students retreated back into their dormitories for their first night back at Hogwarts, Conor pulled out a piece of parchment and his quill and wrote:

_Uncle Remus:_

_Something happened with Mum today on the Platform. She just stopped in the middle of a crowd and wouldn't respond to me for a couple of minutes. You need to go check up on her, as I'm sure she hasn't called you over like she should've. I didn't want to leave her there like that, but she made me get on the train. I'd appreciate it if you owled me back as soon as you get this owl and then send me a second one to let me know what's wrong with her and how she's doing._

_**Conor**_

"Here, Chimera," he called to his Great Horned owl, which immediately responded to hearing her name and flew over, taking the neatly folded letter in her beak. "It's important. Something is wrong with Mum. Please get it to Uncle Remus quickly." He stroked her head affectionately and she rubbed against his hand in understanding. "Good girl."

He took her to the window, pushed it open, and gave his owl a gentle boost into the moist, twilight air. As his mother had done at the train station, he watched after his owl until he could no longer see her shadowed shape.

It was sometime the following morning that a heavily gray-haired man blinked awake to the sound of tapping on his window. Sitting up in his bed, he appeared to be at least twice as old as his number actually indicated. Several long scars ran down the left side of his face, ghostly echoes of brutal battles passed. His tan eyes wandered over to where he had heard the tapping and saw a very familiar Great Horned owl perched impatiently, but politely, on the ledge, a letter in its beak.

"Remus?" drowsily spoke a female voice from beside him. "What is it?"

"It's Conor's owl," he replied, promptly getting out of bed and letting the owl in without a second thought, apprehensively wondering what could be the meaning behind receiving his best friend's son's owl so early on the morning after said best friend's son's first day back to Hogwarts. It must've been urgent, for the owl looked tired, as though she had been delivering the message with haste. Obviously, Conor had sent this letter the moment he got back to his dormitory. But the question on Remus' mind was, "Why?"

"_Conor's_ owl? _This_ early? I wonder what's up," she said, voicing Remus' thoughts.

"Maybe he left a book behind," he suggested, although deep down he knew it wasn't like Conor to forget a book. Conor could remember any book he had ever read in its entirety: every page, every sentence, the title… even the author. It was equally likely that he would remember to bring a book along as opposed to leaving it behind by mistake. But still…

Conor's owl, Chimera, had flown straight over to the nightstand beside the couple's bed. When Remus held out his hand to her, she hopped onto the bed, made her way across the woman's lap, and deposited the still-neatly folded letter into his hand. She then cocked her head to the side in one swift twitch and blinked inquisitively up at him with friendly, wise topaz eyes. Remus reached over and stroked her to show his gratitude, receiving a gentle, affectionate nip on his index finger in return, while the woman opened the nightstand, pulled out a package of crackers, and offered two of them to the owl. She snatched them up both hungrily and gratefully.

"Why'd he send _you_ the owl, then, instead of Reine?" the woman asked, now fully awake and scooting over to join her husband on the edge of the bed.

"I don't know," Remus replied, carefully opening the letter to reveal the neat, bold manuscript of Conor Black-Rose. He could tell by the slant of the lettering and the boldness of the ink that something had Conor worried. He knew something was wrong even _before_ his eyes took in the content of the letter. His stomach and expression sank. "Something's wrong with Reine," he said, summarizing the whole of Conor's brief letter in those even briefer four words, each word expressing growing anxiety.

The woman beside Remus widened her eyes and emitted a small gasp of surprise and concern. "_Reine?_ Oh! What's happened? Remus, is she all right?" His wife's voice reiterated the feelings he himself was having.

"I'm going straight over there to see."

With the newly acquired knowledge that something had ailed the boy's mother, Reine, Remus got up and went over to his desk, pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, and began his immediate response to Conor. As he finished the hastiy scribbling, he called over to Chimera, "Sorry, girl, but I need you to take this straight back to Conor. If he tries to make you bring back a response, just give him a bite. I'll be sending Athena back with a second response later. You'll need to rest, sweetheart." He folded the letter, sealed it, and held it out to the owl, which still looked exhausted, but was otherwise perfectly enthusiastic to be doing her owners such favors. Chimera took the second letter and was off before Remus could even take her to the window.

The gray-haired man then hurried to put on some decent clothes before standing on the other side of the room, preparing to Apparate.

"Wait! I'll go with you in case… well, you know," the woman called after him, standing up.

But Remus shook his head. "I'm sure she won't be needing any calming draughts, Dora. And if she does, I'm prepared for it." He gave her a reassuring smile and with a wave of his hand in farewell, a loud _Crack!_ signaled the departing of Remus Lupin.

--------------------

The morning after dropping her son off on the Platform, Reine went straight to the study and all but collapsed into one of the chairs situated around a coffee table on which books and papers were piled high. Every wall was a ceiling-high bookshelf full of every kind of book imaginable, neatly organized by the author's last name. There were even shelves above the windows, also packed full of books. Where books could no longer fit on the shelves, they were piled about the room in neat, towering stacks, obviously held in place by some balancing charm or other. On the side of the room opposite of the two cushioned chairs, the coffee table, and the two lamps above each chair, all of which was around the fireplace, was a desk, situated in front of a window to allow daylight in as light to write or read by. The desk was also cluttered with books and papers and quills of all sorts, but the center of the desk was clear. Next to the desk a tall, wooden rod stood erect, and at the top there was a horizontal wooden bar on which a beautiful gray and brown Great Horned owl perched, her head twisted around, buried in her own feathery back, asleep.

The study was altogether a place that filled the air with compassionate warmth. Each piece of worn furniture and even the old, dusty spines of the hundreds of books screamed a thousand silent transpired memories. Just by breathing the air in this room, one got the feel that those who lived there had spent much of their time together in it, through both dark moments and peaceful ones. The room _itself_ seemed ancient and wise.

Reine closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, and shivered, though the room was quite warm. Her flesh had gone pale again, but she had neither noticed nor cared. Letting the air out of her lungs slowly, she stood up, shaking slightly, and shuffled across the room to the book-covered desk where she sat down once more. After a few seconds of what appeared to be indecision, she reached over and opened a drawer to her right, her hand slipping into it and coming back up clutching an old black-and-white photograph.

There were six people in the photograph, which appeared to have been taken on Platform 9 ¾--four young men and two young women, one of which was obviously the aged woman holding the moving photograph. All of them were in their late teens.

On the right-hand side stood a slightly overweight, light-haired—probably a shade of blonde, had the photo been in color—boy with a huge grin on his acne-speckled face. He looked as though he was having trouble stifling giggles. His left hand disappeared behind the boy who stood to his left and reappeared above his head, two fingers forming the international symbol for bunny ears. The boy who sported the bunny ears was dark-haired, had a cockied smile-smirk on his face, and had both of his arms wrapped around the shoulders of a beautiful, medium-color haired girl. The couple cuddled into each other, smiles widening, as the wind blew through their hair. Immediately next to the dark-haired boy with the bunny ears was another dark-haired boy, equally handsome and smile-smirking as well. He also had his arms wrapped around the shoulders of a girl, but this girl had hair as dark as his. It was the younger version of the woman looking at the photograph. This couple also kept smiling brightly, holding each other closely, but the black-haired girl, Reine, would periodically look over at a medium-color haired boy to her left and he would look back at her. They would exchange friendly, warm smiles before going back to their original positions. The boy who exchanged smiles with the younger Reine had a sad look in his eyes, and he appeared to be fatigued, as though he rarely slept. His clothes were the shabbiest of the six who posed there, and although he was smiling for all to see, he also seemed sad. There was something more to the captured memory than what the photograph itself presented, and yet it offered no clue as to what this "something" could have possibly been.

The photograph was one that, under normal circumstances, would've elicited a smile from whoever was looking at it. But Reine had never felt less like smiling in her life. As her crystal blue eyes stared at the animated photograph of herself and the other five teenagers on the Platform, a violent shiver jolted her body and tears sharply sprang to her eyes. It nearly caused her to drop the photograph. Her tear-blurred eyes could not look away from the various smiling faces in the picture, and yet the more she looked at it, the harder she cried. Hot, salty tears rained from her eyes in a steady waterfall and onto the picture, causing the people posing in it to leap to the sides to avoid being splashed. A pathetic, pained whimper escaped her lips and quickly escalated into hard, uncontrollable, convulsing sobs.

A sudden _Crack!_ pierced her sobs but did not cease them. By now the woman was crying so hard that she hadn't even heard someone from the other room calling her name, nor did she hear the rapidly approaching footsteps, even as they entered the study in which she resided. She was taken quite by surprise when she found arms around her, pulling her into an embrace. The surprise almost instantly dissolved when she took in the fond scent of her best friend. Her face buried itself into his chest without thought as she unleashed the sheer agony behind her tears.

"It's all right, Reine," he spoke softly, holding her tightly against himself, gently rocking her in an attempt to quell her emotions. It _did_ help, but only so much at a time.

"_REMUS!_" she screamed into his chest, feeling her legs giving way.

"Take it easy!" His grip on her tightened and he held her on her feet just long enough to get her over to one of the chairs in the study where he sat down with her in his arms. She was so much like a child--a child who needed the comfort and protection of her mother. He held her across his lap, damsel-in-distress style, leaning the side of his face against her forehead, practically feeling her sadness absorbing into him like some emotional form of osmosis.

Somehow he comprehended what had happened and why she was acting this way without her telling him, even as she tried.

"I can't… I just can't… I've tried…" she choked out between gasps for air, her hair sticking to her face and forehead in a sweaty and teary mess. Remus reached up with one arm, while holding onto her with the other, and gingerly brushed the strands of hair from her face. "I… I… I _can't_… Remus…"

"Shhhh. I know." His voice was so soft and soothing, Reine's nerves were eased greatly, though not entirely.

"I…" Her sobbing had subsided into whimpering again as she snuggled into the embrace of her best friend. To Remus, she felt too cold for how warm it was to him in the room. He could feel the warmth being sucked from his body by Reine's. But he was used to that by now, and he had never minded sharing his warmth with her. "I thought… I thought I could… m-move on… I've tried, Remus…" Her voice sounded watery and staggered, and somewhat choked, as her throat was full of mucous from crying so hard that she had to continuously clear it.

"I've tried, too, Reine," he whispered, kissing her forehead. There was a moment of tender silence between the two best friends and then Remus started up again. "I know it's hard. It's _been_ hard, for _both_ of us." Reine's whimpering died down as she listened to his even, gentle voice. Her face now rested against his collarbone, and in return Remus rested his chin on top of her head, continuing to hold her close. "I'm proud of you for making it. You understand? _I'm proud of you_." He felt her tiny nod against him.

She sniffled loudly and closed her eyes. "I thought I was getting better. I was. Honest." Her body heaved as though she was going to erupt into tears again, causing Remus to give her a reassuring squeeze. The heave turned into nothing more. "I even put all the pictures away. And… and… and I stopped look at…" She didn't have to finish. Remus knew she meant _the_ ring; the one she could never take off, for it was magically bound to her forever. "But I still… I still _feel_ him, like he's… still here."

"He _is_ here. Have you seen Conor lately?" Remus smiled at the thought that the hot-tempered youth resembled his father so closely, even down to how stubborn and good at getting detentions he was.

"That's it." She sat up a little. Her whimpering was completely gone now and she sounded relatively calm. "I was dropping Conor off on the Platform yesterday." She paused for a moment, thinking, as Remus sat there, holding her, listening to her intently. "I realized that… Conor was starting his Fifth Year… Remus, that's…"

His smile widened and he squeezed her again. "I know. That's when we started talking to each other."

"Yes. But not just you and I. I mean… that's when… everything started. _Everything_."

Remus nodded. "Is that what… caused all _this_?" He was referring to her relapse into depression. Rather, the depression had never left her in the first place, but it had certainly resurfaced intensely.

She shrugged in response, becoming quiet. Although she didn't respond to his question about what had caused her to react so emotionally, and why she had frozen up on the Platform with Conor, he knew. He had a feeling that seeing the train and simultaneously realizing it was her son's Fifth Year had caused memories to overcome her. That's most likely why Conor couldn't get her to react, Remus silently reflected.

"Reine…" He felt her shift against him in response. "Have you ever thought about… well… talking to someone about… everything?"

"What do you mean, talk to someone? I talk to _you_."

"I mean like… a…" He sighed. "I'm just concerned about you. So is Conor. So is everyone else, for that matter. Everything that has happened… It hasn't gone away. I _know_ it hasn't. It's still inside of you, every bit of it, and it's…" Another squeeze as his eyes clouded. "…It's eating you alive."

Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes again at hearing his words. She knew it was all true, but she also knew that she couldn't _ever possibly_ get over what all had happened.

"Oh, Remus… I don't know what to do… I don't think I can take one more summer without you or Conor here with me."

"It's all right." She had begun a new round of tears. In response, he began stroking her hair softly. "That's why I'm saying you need to find an outlet. You need… You need some way of getting it all out, instead of keeping it in."

"Maybe you should just use a memory charm on me then, and get rid of it all," she said, her voice shaky with tears. "I… I don't want it anymore…"

"_No_, Reine. It's okay to keep the memories alive, as long as you're thinking of the _good_ ones."

Suddenly her tears ceased again and she sat up with alarming vigor, her watery blue eyes wide open and blinking. "Books!" she shouted, looking around the room with childlike wonder and fascination, as though she had never seen so many of them in her life.

At first Remus thought she had blurted out something completely random. Ever since Azkaban she had done that, and, over the years, he had grown quite used to it, just like he had grown used to her being cold constantly. It made sense. They were in the study, simply surrounded by hundreds of books. After a few seconds, however, the meaning of why she had shouted that slammed into him with a force that rivaled that of the Hogwarts Express.

"You want to write a book about everything?"

"Yes." A series of short, quick nods. "Maybe… Maybe writing it down and telling the world about… what happened… will help…"

The smile returned to Remus' face at hearing the determination in his best friend's voice. "That sounds like a _wonderful_ idea. And be honest about… you know… _everything_. Don't hold back," he advised, looking into her eyes with all the sincerity in the world.

"Oh Remus," she said, already brightening up considerably with the idea of writing a book about everything. "_You_ of all people should know. I _never_ hold back."

--------------------

Conor was sitting at his House table in solitude, a book before him that he was holding open with his left hand, while his right hand—suspicious bandages were on his index and middle fingers—was distractedly handling a fork, when the second owl flew in with the second letter from Remus. Upon the arrival of the gray Great Horned owl, he dropped his fork and completely forgot about the book he had been engrossed in.

"Thank you, Athena," he said to his mother's old owl. He pushed his plate of food away, silently giving the owl permission to eat from it whatever she wanted. He didn't care about his lunch anymore. The letter he had been waiting for had finally arrived.

He opened it without a second to spare and read anxiously.

Conor,

Your mother is going to be fine. She had a relapse, but don't you worry. I'll be staying with her for the next week to make sure she makes a complete recovery.

She wants me to remind you that you are to be on better behavior this year, and to stop back-talking to Professor Thamis. Neither of us wants to see another owl from him, understand?

We love you.

**Remus Lupin**

The boy read the short letter from Remus six times before stuffing it into his pocket and getting out a quill and piece of parchment from his bag to write a response. However, when he looked back up, he saw that Athena had gone. Chimera wouldn't let him touch her without snapping at him for some reason. His response would have to wait, because he refused to use anyone's owls but his or his mother's.

--------------------

That night, a certain woman sat down at her desk in the study with a quill in hand, and a stack of parchment before her. And she began to write...


	2. Foreword

Have you ever begun something with no extraordinary expectations, and then gazed back and wondered how a beginning so plain could have evolved into what it is now? To me, everything is like a conversation--constantly shifting through moods and subject matter, until it has become a topic far from what it started out as. I peer back into my life, my mind passing over thousands of bitter, sweet, and bittersweet memories, and wonder how, just like a conversation, everything came down to this very waking moment; how every small step and decision, each seeming so insignificant at the time, has led me through the veins of fate, towards an always unforeseeable future. I wonder if fate is like a master dragging along an unwilling, leashed pet; or if it is like a distant reflection, following your every move, and we are merely on a crash course with the inevitable, like freefalling and having no control over anything; or if maybe fate does not exist after all, and that it is simply a fabricated idea to help us deal with mishaps in our lives.

Foresight is looking into a muddied pool and trying to see the bottom, but hindsight is crystal clear. In looking back, I see a web of transpirations and probable outcomes. The transpirations are lit up and connected, weaving a path of light through dim, untaken paths, ultimately leading back to a tiny pinprick of light. That tiny pinprick of light is the beginning, a source from which the paths of light emerge, leading up to where I am sitting now, quill in hand, recalling each of these paths.

The only way I can imagine even attempting the relive everything is by going back to that plain beginning, that pinprick of light, and turning around to face what I have already been through. Maybe some truth and sense of these events will emerge along the way and I can finally lay to rest that which has plagued me for the past thirty years.

This book is my last hope of moving on, of breaking free of the spiteful past's stranglehold on me and my future, and of waking up from this catatonic state.

I've reached the pinprick of light. I think I'm ready to face my past. I'm ready to begin moving on.

**This book is dedicated to all of those whom I have loved in my life, and to all of those who lost their lives in the struggle against the darkest wizard of these times.**


	3. Chapter One

((((rockstar-101: Reine is pronounced _rain_, just like the weather. ) I hope you enjoy Chapter One, and I apologize for the slow progression in the plot, but it's all necessary, I assure you. Things will pick up soon enough.))))

--------------------

For the past week I have been fretting over how I should begin. Several beginnings have proven faulty and unsatisfactory. At first I tried writing about my childhood, but found it rather extraneous to this book. Next, I tried detailing my first few years at Hogwarts, but also thought it irrelevant. Although both my childhood and my first few years at Hogwarts have most certainly affected my life, I have come to the conclusion that I cannot divulge upon you the immaculate details of the days before my Fifth Year. For me, that was when life truly began.

Up until then my life had been an ignorant, monotonous timeline of independence, self-reliance, over application, neglect, and no social life aside from the educational topics between my professors and myself. In short, I had no idea what love and friendship were. My parents never so much as hugged me since I was potty-trained and their incessant droning about how my years at Hogwarts were to be spent learning and not socializing contributed to my naivete on the subjects of love and friendship.

If, say, I actually _did_ have what could be considered a friend before I met Remus, Professor Filius Flitwick would have definitely been given the title. But, although I _do_ see him as one of my best, closest, truest friends, he is, in fact, much more than that to me. For reasons that will be explained in due time, Filius is more of a father to me; morseo than my biological father _ever_ was.

Another such potential pre-Fifth Year friend would be Professor, and current Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. Since I only ever associated with her in class and on the weekends during my animagus lessons, the prospect of my friendship with her did not arise until my latest Hogwarts attendances. Only then did I realize that she, like Filius, was more to me than a professor. Minerva is one of my most respectable friends and mentors. So much of my time was spent in her commanding presence, it's a wonder I did not recognize her influence upon me sooner.

Since I did not identify Filius and Minerva as my friends until after most of my studies, I cannot appropriately say they were my _first_ friends. Thus, my first four years at Hogwarts were spent comatosely ignorant of my deepening loneliness. The older I got, the more geared towards adulthood responsibilities and the less interested in associating with my peers I became. Typical teenage fancies, woes, and follies were a white noise of chatter to me. I was far out of the social loop and therefore knew nothing of who fancied who, who was dating who, who broke up with who, and who was the biggest loser in the school. For all _I_ knew, the last item could very well have been _me_, but I didn't have the time nor the purpose for such frivolous, sophomoric subjects.

Up until my Fifth Year, none of the daily buzz at school meant anything to me. Not even did I realize how lonely I must have been when I was the second student to arrive on Platform 9 3/4 on September 1, 1974. As I stepped onto the Hogwarts Express and made a beeline for the prefect's carriage, I was under the impression that I was the first and solitary student on the train that morning. However, upon finding the correct carriage and quietly entering it, I discovered that I was, in fact, the _second_ student to board.

In the corner furthest from the door, with a Shakespearean novel obscuring his face, sat a rigid, dark figure, already adorned in his school robes. He did not look up or even move, aside from turning the page, to acknowledge my presence. His lack of responsiveness did not encourage me. Nevertheless, I was determined to at least _try_ associating with those who were to be my fellow prefects.

As quietly as I could, I shuffled across the exceptionally large compartment and sat across from the obscured boy. My ever-observant eyes managed to witness his prefect's badge; a bold _P_ was superimposed over the unmistakable green and silver emblem of Slytherin House. I opened my mouth to speak, but found starting a conversation to be more difficult than I had thought. After a few moments of silence, I mustered up the friendliest grin I could and cautiously chose the words, "Which play are you reading?"

Without so much as a glance in my direction, the boy turned another page and went right along with his reading. My friendly smile immediately dissolved into a small, hurt frown. At that, it became apparent to me that this Slytherin boy was more antisocial than I was. The longer the awkward silence between us persisted, the more uncomfortable I felt in his rude presence. Perhaps I had offended him somehow...

With an inner sigh, I decided to join the boy in reading. It was, after all, my favorite pastime and the best way to assuage anything on my mind, including how I had just been completely cold-shouldered by a fellow prefect when I was merely trying to be friendly. I remained where I had sat across from Mister No Response, reached into my neatly organized bag, and produced a brand new copy of _Flora Flounder's Juxtaposition of Magical Theories_. I began to read, and within the first page I forgot about the unresponsive boy and became fully in-tune with reading about the various theories of magic.

About twenty minutes had passed in silence, aside from the rhythmic turning of pages from both my book and the boy's, before the door slid open and in stepped a second boy. He seemed rather timid to me. As I observed his physiognomy from looking up from my book (Not surprisingly, Mister No Response, once again, refrained from looking up) I noticed how exhausted he appeared. He was scrawny and his school robes were patched and shabby. His short, straight mouse-colored hair was just about his only aspect that did not cry out his misfortunes. I got the feeling that he was burdened with an affliction of some kind, but I decided I was coming to that conclusion much too soon, and dismissed the thought soon after it had come to mind.

Afraid that this boy would ignore me as well, I offered no greeting--not thinking that it was rude--and went back to reading my book. From the sound of things, the ailed newcomer had reached a bit of indecision on where he should sit, for he stood there almost motionlessly for at least a full thirty seconds. Finally, his footsteps sounded, and, to my surprise, drew nearer to where he sat, at a calculated distance, next to me.

To anyone else, it would have seemed unusual for one to sit beside a stranger when an entire train compartment was full of vacant seats. But I did not devote any thoughts to it because of my social naivete. Besides, Brackenbury's theory on the decay of cognizant magical capabilities had my full attention once again.

As before the second boy had arrived, a hush filled the prefect's carriage and only the sounds of pages being turned could be heard. Then, quite suddenly, the second boy took a short breath and said, "Hey... I'm reading that book, too."

Fleetingly, I was reminded of earlier when I had said something similar to that to Mister No Response, and in his rudeness he had ignored me. With a slight start at realizing he was speaking to _me_ and not the Slytherin, I peeled my eyes from the words on the page and met the eyes of the stranger, eyes I would come to cherish as those belonging to my best friend. His gaze faltered when our eyes met for the very first time.

"Oh, really?" I replied, immediately realizing how unimpressed I sounded, though, in reality, I _was_ impressed. Who _else_ read books regarding magical theories, namely those belonging to a book with the word _juxtaposition_ in the title?

His eyes flickered to my prefect's badge and, in a reflexive response, my eyes flickered to his. The crimson and gold colors contrasted greatly with his black school robes, standing out proudly to proclaim that he had been sorted into Gryffindor.

He issued one small nod and all but muttered, "Yeah." He must've heard the accidental disinterest in my voice, because he looked away altogether after that. I lowered my book completely and fixed my eyes on the cover, trying to force back out the friendliness I had exhibited earlier to Mister No Response.

"I didn't know anyone else read this stuff," I said simply. I could state facts such as that without having to worry about my tone of voice. Facts are facts, after all--no opinion necessary.

"Yeah..." he muttered again.

I had indeed discouraged him from talking to me, and with such unintention. Feeling ashamed of myself and lacking the words I needed to say, I nodded grimly and resumed my reading half-heartedly.

Mister No Response made a small noise in the back of his throat, which, to me, sounded like the beginning of a repressed cough. I could not identify the meaning behind such a noise. Thus, I did not look up again.

--------------------

Light knocks on the closed door pulled Reine from her focused reconstruction of memories and back into the present. For a couple of seconds she hadn't realized the shift from past to present, and she blinked at the parchment, laden with her handwriting, before her. It took a soft utterance of her name to get her to look up finally.

Remus stood in the doorway, peering in at her. "Hey, might I join you in here?" he inquired, smiling at her. What he really meant to ask was, "Are you all right in here?" She hadn't made a single noise for hours and in his concern for his best friend he had decided to check up on her.

Reine and Remus had grown so close over the decades that she _knew_ what he was really asking without him having even asked it. Her ghost of an expression warmed at his presence and she nodded, saying, "Of course."

Worn and faded by age, life, and lycanthropy, Remus stepped into the warm study and headed over to a shelf on the opposite side of the room from Reine. Her cerulean blue eyes followed his movement, the memory of when they had first met on the Hogwarts Express some thirty years prior fresh in her mind. She watched as he ran his index finger down the faded spine of a book, leaving behind a streak where his finger had removed the built-up dust. He inspected his finger then dusted the filth off on his pants.

His lips parted and spoke evenly, "It feels like it's been ages since I've read these books." He paused, looking at the furniture, particularly at a very tattered and mended black, blue, and white plaid blanket draped over the back of one of the reading seats. He abandoned the bookshelf and fondly ran his fingers across the threads of the ancient blanket. "...Feels like ages since I've been in this _room_..." he continued, his voice dropping and trailing off.

Reine set her quill down and leaned back in her chair, her soft eyes never leaving her friend's scarred face. "It _has_ been a long time... hasn't it?" she agreed, smiling faintly yet sadly.

The former Gryffindor slowly nodded as he continued to caress the frayed comforter. After several seconds of repeatedly stroking the blanket, he sank slowly into the chair adorning the blanket, resting his arms on the armrests and leaning back, molding himself into the cushions. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply as he sat there.

Quietly, Reine stood up from her spot at the desk and crept over to where he sat, stopping in front of him. His eyes blinked open at hearing her approach and the air in the room seemed to ignite with emotion as they looked at each other. Biting her lip, Reine then reached around him, clutched the old blanket, gently prodding him to lean forward so she could remove it, and Remus instantly complied, opening his arms to her so that she could curl up in his lap with the blanket draped around them both, sealing in their shared warmth.

Remus flicked his wand at the fireplace and dancing flames sprang to life from the silent wood. Both of them grinned. "There," he chuckled, resting his chin on top of the other's head. "Just like old times."

"Just like old times," she repeated softly, cuddling against him.

Several minutes of this tender moment lapsed before the black-haired woman spoke up gingerly, "Remember when we met on the train?"

"Mmhm," he breathed out, completely relaxed and inhaling the enchanting closeness as though it were a drug.

Reine shifted in his lap, closing her eyes and inhaling the same drug, growing quite sleepy. Finally, she whispered, "...I'm sorry..."

At that, a tender smile grew on Remus' lips. He kissed the top of her head and held her closer yet, whispering back, "I know."


	4. Chapter Two

((((This chapter has yet to be edited, but I will repost it when it is edited. I really wanted post this, so I couldn't wait for my cousin to edit it. Xx;;;;))))

By the following morning, I had forgotten all about the regretful events on the train. My brain was now switched onto fully focused learning mode. My zombie-like composure resumed and anything that did not pertain to studying and learning dropped out of my mind quicker than a Golden Snitch. Up to this point, I was clearly carrying out the Rose tradition of being null and void when it came to actually living. I later resented how my parents denied their daughter the pleasures of life and how I turned out just as they had raised me.

Everything in my first day of Fifth Year up until lunch had proven normal. My Monday morning Transfigurations class with Professor McGonagall was average. I stayed after class for ten minutes to discuss the progression of my animagus lessons with her before promptly departing and coasting briskly through the morning hallway traffic to my next class. Double Charms in mid-morning was always a welcome schedule. Once again, I remained after class to converse with Professor Flitwick about my summer happenings.

We walked together--my strides slow and deliberate while my professor's were quick and paced to keep up--down the corridors and towards the Great Hall for an early lunch. I was perhaps the only student who cared, or dared, to be seen with a professor outside of class or detention.

"Nothing particularly outstanding occurred for you this summer then?" my tiny professor squeakily inquired.

Not knowing what he was getting at, I peered down at his short presence and replied, "Plenty happened, Professor." My tone elicited a hint of incredulity. Hadn't I _just_ detailed to him my animagus improvements and the great many books I had plowed through over the summer? Usually he was keen on hearing of my summer of continued education.

I saw a small knowing grin flicker across his expression and I stared at him for a moment before facing ahead again.

"Did you attend any parties?" he asked.

Not only was his question sudden and straight-forward, it was also absurd and it actually offended me. My eyes returned to blinking at him, aghast. I managed an even, mostly-placid tone. "Of course not, Professor." I paused slightly before adding, "There was a lot of work to be done."

The simplest fact was that I hadn't been _invited_ to any parties. Even if I had been, I'm entirely certain that I would have declined the invitation in order to curl up on a seat and read for six hours straight. Parties weren't relevant to keeping my brain active during the educational lull of summer.

"Right you are, Miss Rose," he agreed, though, to me, his agreement seemed a bit reluctant. I hadn't noticed at this time his transition from referring to me as "Miss Rose" instead of "Reine," as he usually did whenever it was just us. Later, however, my thoughts would return briefly to ponder this before going back to working on one of my essays.

Upon entering the Great Hall, Professor Flitwick bid me farewell and went along his way while I headed over to the Ravenclaw table for lunch. I took a seat away from my noisy housemates and pulled out the essay assignment I had just received for Transfigurations only hours before. Seeing as I was ambidextrous and only needed one hand to eat, most of my lunch periods were spent doing homework whilst I consumed my lunch. It was a rather efficient way of staying ahead of the game.

At some point during my simultaneous eating and studying, I had this uncanny feeling that _someone_ was looking at me. It made me feel so uncomfortable that I shifted self-consciously and slowly turned my head to see if my suspicions were true. Surely enough, two boys were standing there, looking at each other, then at me, and then whispering between themselves. For a fraction of a second, my sapphire eyes met those of cool gray. My heart skipped a beat. The owner of those soul-piercing eyes and his associate were both now approaching me. Hastily, I looked away and delved back into my work and food.

The two boys stopped just a few feet shy of where I sat.

"You're that new Ravenclaw prefect," one of them said matter-of-factly.

Looking back up, my gaze fell upon his stunningly handsome face and something about his gray eyes reached deep into my being and gripped my heart, forcing it to pound uncontrollably. He wore a cocky smirk beyond the curtains of onyx hair that hung around his features. His friend, equally handsome, pushed his glasses up on his nose. I noted the messiness of his hair; it appeared, for reasons I could not explain, as though he purposely kept it looking like he had been buffeted by a great windstorm.

My eyes returned to the one who had spoken to me as his lips parted and he added, "Rose, isn't it?"

With a curt nod, I answered, "I'm... I'm _one_ of them. And yes, I'm Reine Rose." What I wanted to know was why two very casually laid-back Gryffindor boys had strode across the Great Hall to inquire about my prefect position. I sat up straighter. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Both of the boys widened their mischievous, haughty smirks and actually _snickered_. I was utterly confused as to what I had done or said to cause their smirking and snickering. Maybe they were only out to cause trouble, and if that were the case then I was fully prepared and equipped to distribute detentions.

But his response caught me quite off-guard. From beyond his black locks, he said, "Heh heh. _You'll_ be needing the help, Love."

The pair snickered yet again and looked cockier than ever. I can only imagine that the expression on my face must have reflected that of a stupefied unicorn caught in an unexpected beam of light. For once my quick and articulate ability to speak was robbed of me and so I sat and stared at them, trying to understand why they had thought _I_ would need any help.

Finally, I managed to stutter out, "E-excuse me?"

By the time my tongue had unglued itself from the roof of my mouth, the two curious Gryffindors had already turned their backs and were strutting back to their House table. Girls from every House and Year giggled flirtatiously as they marched their way back to their table. Obviously they were some sort of celebrities, particularly among the girls in the school, and yet I had never really noticed them before. I noticed them _now_; they had made sure of that. It appeared that they _liked_ all the attention they were getting. There's only one word to encompass people such as those two: _Arrogant_.

For a couple of minutes I didn't even realize I was staring awestruck at them. My eyes had followed them to where they sat, next to a snickering blonde boy whose face was pitted with an onslaught of acne. Arrogant Git Number One and Arrogant Git Number Two both, in turn, ruffled up the hair of their giggling friend and then proceeded to dishevel the hair of their _other_ friend, who had been distractedly eating his lunch. My eyelids fluttered in recognition of their second friend, now sporting messed-up hair and desperately trying to straighten it back out. With a jolt I realized that I had, indeed, been staring.

Flustered, I hastily turned back around just as their mouse-haired, shabby-robed friend noticed that I had been watching their scene. Our eyes had met briefly and awkwardly, just as they had on the train the day before. I felt like the pit of my stomach had dropped out and everything had drained, leaving me with this very bizarre churning sensation. What had their visit been about? My stomach and brain struggled for answers.

Whatever the case, that lunch's events had unnerved me enough and had been so out-of-rut for me, that I couldn't finish my half-eaten lunch. In addition to the unsettling feeling that had arisen already, I noticed, with horror, that a couple of the girls who had been admiring the two boys from afar were now whispering, every now and then peeking over at me, and then whispering more. They were talking about _me_. I packed away my books and unfinished essay and, without another glance in their direction, hurriedly fled the scene.

At the time, I didn't realize I had met the school's biggest pranksters. One might have thought that a couple of troublemakers so pronounced would have been mentioned to all new prefects. They hadn't been mentioned, but soon after my first meeting with the notorious mischievous duo, I learned on my own just what I was up against.

Indeed they had spared no time in establishing their chaotic dominance, for while I had been busy staring dumbfounded at Sirius Black, his accomplice, who I would later know as James Potter, had inconspicuously slipped a dung bomb into my school bag. After exiting the Great Hall, I began to notice a horrid stench. Not realizing it was coming from _my_ bag, I hurried off to my next class, Arithmancy, where I finally discovered the stowaway dung bomb. I had never been more mortified in my life up until my hand retracted from my bag clutching a brown, Snitch-sized sphere seeping a most offensive odor. Embarrassment washed over me in one immense wave as my classmates laughed at me, but soon resentment overcame my fluster when I realized I had fallen victim to a crude, yet well-executed, prank.

When I went to dispose of the childish, not to mention _banned_, item, I noticed a small fleck of something cream-colored along the side of it. Standing over the wastebasket, with my back to the rest of the class, I tugged at it. A string of parchment, obviously shrunken down by a Shrinking Charm so that it would fit within the tiny incision that had been made in the dung bomb, came out with great ease. I tugged gently at it until the length of the string had been fully removed from the dung bomb.

In retrospect, this was not a good idea. The string could have easily been an extension of their prank. I was fortunate that it was not a prank stemming from the original prank, but a note. Before I could slip out my wand in order to enlarge the string and unroll it so that it could be properly read, Professor Vector called from the front of the classroom.

"Miss Rose, won't you please return to your seat so that we might continue with today's lesson? We have much, much to learn, dung bombs or not." His tone was dripping with impatience, and he, like the rest of my professors, was usually on very good terms with me.

My face burned red hot with even _more_ embarrassment as a few of my classmates chuckled from behind. "My apologies, Professor," I replied with perfect calm. Quickly, I wrapped the string around my index finger and stuffed it into my pocket, dropping the dung bomb into the wastebasket, and strode confidently back to my seat, where I had trouble focusing the rest of the lesson due to my curiosity of what the note said.

Later, after the rest of my lessons, I returned to my dormitory to read the note that had been hidden within the dung bomb. I closed the curtains around my bed so I could have utmost privacy, and withdrew the string from my pocket, muttering the Enlargement Charm so that it swelled to its normal size. At once, I unrolled the scroll of parchment and read.

_Rose--  
__  
Congratulations! You have just experienced your first practical joke from... __**us**__! Who are we? Well, that's for you to find out, Love. Until next time--which should be very, __**very**__ soon--enjoy this little gift from us! We picked out the __**especially**__ stinky one just for __**you**!  
__  
--Me, Me, Me, and ME!!!!_

Dancing around each individual "Me" signature was an animated stick-figure animal. In order from the first "Me" to the last, there was a running wolf, a scurrying rat, a frolicking dog, and a galloping stag. My eyes followed the playful creatures as they energetically wound their ways around their "Me" and all over the page, tussling with each other. Aside from my brain working furiously as to the meaning behind the animals, a small grin formed on my lips and I actually _chuckled_. After all, when I thought about it, it _was_ kind of funny...

**  
**

It started out as a low, suppressed coughing sound and then quickly escalated into a series of short chuckles before her laughing finally reached the point where she could no longer write. With a gasp of giggles, Reine dropped her quill and leaned back in her chair, a hand over her mouth to stifle the breathless laughs issuing forth. With an eyebrow quirked in curiosity, Remus set down the book he had recently pulled off one of the dusty shelves to reread for the first time in years, and smiled over at his friend, whose eyes were now streaming from all of the laughing.

"Reine? What's so funny?" he inquired of her in the subtlest of amused tones, mostly wanting to know why his friend, who had hardly shown any sign of life for the past thirty odd years, was in such a jovial mood all of a sudden. He had grown so used to her solemn expression that seeing her rosy cheeks and the lights in her eyes seemed vastly out of character to him.

At first, through her laughs, she couldn't respond. Then, as the laughter died down, she leaned forward with a smile that reflected fondness of memory, and said, "Remember the first day of classes in Fifth Year?" Remus nodded, smiling with equal fondness. "Remember that dung bomb you lot put in my bag?" With that, she and Remus both began giggling together.

"How could I forget?" he replied, the grin spreading broadly across his scarred features. There were a few more moments of cheerful laughter between the two friends before Remus added, "I hope you know that James and Sirius _made_ me sign that note."

The former Ravenclaw gave him a warm, knowing smile, the kind that only the closest friend, close enough to experience empathy, could convey with utmost sincerity. After Remus returned the friendly smile, Reine picked up her quill once more and bent down over the parchment to resume her writing, the spirited expression on her face more pronounced than ever.

"Reine," Remus called over to her softly.

She looked up. "Yes?"

"That's the first time I've heard you laugh in... a _really_ long time."


End file.
